


Rogue Wave

by thatemofangirl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley Keener as Iron Lad, Hurt Peter Parker, I love putting a twist on mythologies, I'm Sorry, It'll make sense, Kinda, M/M, Merperson Peter Parker, OC villian - Freeform, Original Character(s), Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Secrets, Sirens, are sirens still merpeople, but it had to happen for this story, but kinda not mer, hopefully, i hate endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatemofangirl/pseuds/thatemofangirl
Summary: Tony Stark was gone.The Avengers were unsure of where to go from here.The world is more unprotected than ever and up for grabs. Hands that had been getting ready for years were gearing up to snatch.Unsuspected and ready to hit like a rogue wave.[slow updates :) ]
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 30
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sirennette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sirennette/gifts).



> This story was requested by the lovely Sirennette! I gotta say, I really let my mind run away with plotting for this one. Sorry for such the long wait! You've been here since the beginning, so thank you for sticking around! (pun intended!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! I'm as excited to post this as I am nervous. I've never really written any AU/fic in general where it deals with any type of supernatural or mythological creatures or aspects, but I love Greek mythology, and I love sirens and mermaids, so it was only a matter of time -- Sirennette just gave me a little push! 
> 
> I am sad to say though that updates are most likely going to be decently spaced out over time and won't follow any type of schedule. Don't worry! I already have everything planned out and the first few chapters written, but I'm also willingly juggling like 4 (sounds about right) other projects as well as school, so to keep them all from falling, I do need to spread my focus. 
> 
> But as I said, I have a plan and so far I haven't strayed from it. Hopefully, the story would be worth the time!
> 
> Warning: this first chapter is kind of...well, it's decently depressing.

Peter never thought he'd ever wish to be numb again.

The last time he wished it, it was after he lost Ben. He had felt painful amounts of guilt, tremendous sorrow, like karma had proved its existence, and grief had made its inescapable return.

The emotions were too strong. Peter didn't know how to handle them without either acting too rashly or not acting at all. He was either spending hour after hour tracking down every single mugger or robber he could find to try and make up for what he had done, or he was shutting himself into his room for days on end with no contact to the outside world.

The day Peter made his wish was the day he thought he couldn't bear it anymore. He still missed Ben every second of every day, and nothing could bring him back, and Peter knew it was all because of him. Peter had thought that if somehow he wouldn't be able to feel the loss, the guilt, then everything would feel better. Because he wouldn't be able to feel anything.

His plan of dissociating didn't last long however. He could tell how much he was hurting the people around him. Ned texted and called him every day trying to get a response. May would plead for him to talk to her. It was like Peter had died too. Peter couldn't deal with seeing them like that; always trying to communicate with a ghost.

That had been partially true then. His Uncle Ben had definitely been a part of him. A part that disappeared and left an empty hole in its wake.

But when Peter realized that he was only hurting those close to him, something inside of him flipped. He knew he couldn't just shut everything out. He had to be strong for May and for Ned. He had to be strong for himself.

He learned a valuable lesson: not to take anything for granted. The friends he had, the family he had left, and especially not his then brand new powers.

He learned that death was a normal but sometimes completely unfair part of life, and that while it hurts, no good could ever come out of letting grief consume him. He still helped the people of New York as the Spider-Man, but no longer under the impression that if he stopped criminals, it would bring Ben back; that it would somehow avenge his death.

This wasn't his first time dealing with loss. Peter had remembered how he moved on after seeing his parents for the last time and he projected that memory, the feeling, every day until he was smiling again. Until he was Peter again. And letting May and Ned back in, it was the best decision he could have ever made.

He swore he would never let death shroud the life he could live ever again. Not when love and support was so much more powerful.

But when the unimaginable happened again, it was harder to keep at bay.

For the first time in nearly three years, Peter had found someone that was filling the hole Ben had left. Someone who was becoming more than just a mentor. Who Peter had begun to fill in as a new father figure in his life.

Tony Stark was more than Iron Man. More than the genius billionaire the world knew him as. Tony Stark was a man who cared for more than anyone and anything that had ever cared about him. He was a hero. A father. He would soon be a legend.

And now Peter had lost him too.

Losing Tony was different than when he had lost his parents. Different from when he had lost Ben. It still hurt, of course it did; it would take time before that pain dulled.

It seemed insensitive for Peter to say that this time around, he knew what to expect. But he did. In a way, his family had grown, and in a way, they all experienced the same loss. All of them would be relying on each other. He knew he had a support system, people who would always be there for him to to break down with and move on with.

Nothing could bring Tony back, and Peter knew that. He knew what he had to do, what life he had to continue living. He had different, healthier ways to cope.

Peter had a couple of days to let Tony being gone sink in before the private funeral at the Stark's. 

The thing is: he had never wished to feel numb again.

He told himself he would never wish to feel numb again. So he didn't understand why he felt empty as he stood outside with May's comforting hand on his shoulder.

He didn't understand why he didn't feel like he wasn't really there. Why he could feel the brisk autumn breeze blow through the air and hear the trees rustle around him, why he could taste the remnants of blood from when he accidentally bit his tongue the night before, why he could smell the earth around him and see the very first arc reactor that kept Tony alive those first months float away gracefully across the lake; why he could experience all of those things, but he felt like he was trapped far in the back of his mind.

Peter knew on the outside that his expression was probably as neutral as it could get, and he didn't know why all the emotions he was experiencing were trapped -- like they were pounding on the sides of a box he created for himself in his mind. All trying to escape.

He hated it. No matter how much he fought to let those feelings loose -- he didn't care if he burst into tears, if he yelled, anything really if it showed some kind of emotion -- but he couldn't do it. It was like his subconscious was somehow fighting against him and granting his wish two years too late.

Everyone slowly began to disperse after Tony's Heart had floated away too far for even the people with superhuman sight could see. Peter hadn't made the decision to move himself, but he had heard May's voice whisper to him that they were moving. His body followed the words like they were a coded command.

It wasn't until it came to Peter's focus that they were nearing the stairs to go back inside that everything came flooding back: every sound, sight, touch, and smell hit him like a defibrillator to the chest. All at once.

Suddenly, Peter really needed to be alone. He needed to breathe, he needed to think.

He needed to cry.

"Pete?" May noticed when he had stopped right in his tracks, inhaling shakily and his eyes already brimming with tears. Her voice got softer when she saw his face. "I'll give you a minute. Meet me inside?"

"Yeah." Peter had barely been able to breath the word out. He took a step forward toward the stairs, and just before he turned to sit down on the wood, he saw Happy reach his hand out for May to take and they both joined everyone else inside with Morgan just in front of them.

Not knowing what to do, Peter rubbed his palms over his thighs before slouching and holding his head in his hands. He didn't care that his elbows were like spears into his skin, or that he probably looked like a wreck from any other angle. He just needed to get this out. He felt horrible for not doing it any sooner.

Peter lost track of time, but he knew it had definitely passed a minute as he continued to sit outside. His position hadn't changed, his eyes were still screwed shut as tears fell and his chest heaved as he tried to silence his sobs the best he could. He couldn't quite think of a reason why, he knew no one would judge him for crying. Habit, he just figured.

Soon, Peter knew he would have to go back inside. Or he could go watch Steve return the Infinity Stones. He heard footsteps to his right just a couple of minutes ago -- at least he _thinks_ it was only a couple of minutes -- Steve, Bruce, Sam, and Bucky would be just down the trail. He could join them; watch as the mission that saved the world came to a final close.

His senses came flooding back the second the first tear let loose (as well as a pounding headache) so Peter's head shot up and he quickly wiped his eyes when he heard footsteps behind him.

He was expecting May, or Happy, or even Pepper to be the one who stopped behind him. An adult who had given him his time, but now wanted him to come back to the world. To make sure he wasn't beating himself up any more than necessary.

So, when the voice that broke the silence after the footsteps had stopped wasn't anyone he'd thought it was, Peter was decently surprised to say the least. 

"This seat taken?" 

This was a voice Peter hadn't heard before. Looking up through tear brimmed eyes, he saw a boy about his age. He squinted up, trying to focus on his face even though the sun was doing it's best to obscure him from view. Immediately, Peter got the feeling that he was familiar. It only took another second to realize that he had seen the boy before the service. When he couldn't bother to talk to anyone. Well, it was less of a choice anyway. 

Realizing he probably had been staring too long, making out the basic features of wind swept blond hair and blue eyes despite of the sun's attempts, Peter reacted before he was labelled the creep at the funeral. 

"No. No, uh, go ahead." Peter said softly, trying his best to ignore the way his voice was both rough and cracked as he spoke and quickly stared down at his hands as he scooted to the side to give the boy more room to sit. 

Once they were at the same level, Peter could see him more clearly. Really, it was because the clouds had moved back in front of the source of light. Apparently the mournful day had its share of sun already. The boy really was just around his age, and Peter tried to remember if he had seen him around any time before today. He tried not to make his staring too obvious, just a couple of glances every few minutes. The boy probably came out to do the same thing he was; just escaping for a while. He probably didn't want to talk to Peter. But still, the feeling of familiarity nagged at Peter. So much that he couldn't stop the words that tumbled out of his mouth. 

"Are you...from here?" Peter sucked in a breath. "I mean, have I seen you before? -- uh, do I know you?" 

Normally people would cringe when Peter tripped over his words. Cringe or laugh. The boy did the latter. After the first second of him figuring out that Peter had begun to talk to him, Peter waited for the feeling of embarrassment to worm it's way through the mourning. Especially when a soft chuckle sounded through the air. 

What was different this time though, was that Peter couldn't detect any hints of mocking in the laugh. He was so used to the jeering he dealt with from most people when he was outside of the Spider-Man suit, that it totally took him by surprise when the laugh was something different. In fact, it sounded like it was filled with empathy. Like he had been in Peter's spot more than once. At first glance, it didn't look like the boy would fit the mold of an outcast. He had the 'don't talk to me unless I want you to' aura that naturally comes with the popular kids (or the bad ones) and he definitely had the looks of one (both, potentially) but Peter knew that first impressions weren't always someone's entire character.

“Not unless you go flipping through Tennessee yearbooks in your spare time,” The boy answered casually. His tone seemed a little off though. Like it was _too_ casual. Forced, for the emotion to hide behind. 

“Tennessee?” Peter asked curiously, still not understanding why his face seemed familiar. Maybe he was just one of those people that just have a familiar face. 

“Rose HIll. Born and raised, not that I’m too proud.” Peter nodded, but he wasn’t too sure how to phrase the question that was on his mind without it sounding rude. 

The boy sighed, like he could see into Peter’s head -- which wouldn’t be too surprising given that there superheroes in the world and it was definitely possible for someone other than Wanda could read peoples minds. 

“I’m Harley.” He said, bringing Peter’s attention and awkward silence back into the spotlight. “I knew Stark from way back when, if you’re wondering who I am and what I’m doing here.” 

“I -- no -- I mean--” Peter groaned and gave up trying to disagree. He was right, anyway, he just wasn’t expecting it to be put so bluntly. 

Harley. That name seemed familiar. A little more scrying into the depths of his memory, and Peter was able to put the puzzle pieces together. 

He remembered one night Tony invited him to work on a ‘school project’ with the newest Stark technology he was working on getting manufactured. As Peter was walking into Tony’s lab, the man was having F.R.I.D.A.Y. recording an email to someone named Harley. Peter, having questioned who he was once Tony has said it wasn’t an associate for SI, only having caught a glimpse of his face in the profile Tony seemingly put together, found out that Harley was one of the first kids Tony had recommended for a scholarship grant he had put in place early 2017. 

Peter hadn’t thought twice about it, but now he was. Because if Harley was just a kid who had received a grant, why would he be at Tony’s funeral? He obviously knew Tony on a more personal level. And judging from the hurt Harley was very successfully hiding in his eyes, hurt no one else would have caught but Peter had experience seeing it in his own eyes in the mirror, he’d known Tony a long time. 

“It’s okay man, no one knows about me anyway. Stark kept me secret like I was his illegitimate child.” Harley scoffed, kicking his foot against the pebbles on the ground. 

“I’m Peter.” Peter said out of not knowing what else to say. 

“You’re the Spider-Kid, right?” 

“It’s Spider-Man.” He automatically corrected before a slight panic filled him. “I mean that’s his name. Spider-Man. The hero. He’s not me, obviously.” Peter rushed to lie, but he knew he failed when Harley just stared back with an amused expression.

“This is a private funeral that’s full of other superheroes _for_ a superhero. I mean Hell, even Captain America is here, and he was like the first real famous superpowered person in the world. So going by that logic, you’re either _Spider-Man_ ,” Peter frowned a little at the exaggerated attitude of his name, “or you’re actually his son or somethin’.” 

“I mean…” Peter began to counter.

“Just saying, if I were to buy your terrible lying, I still would know who you are.” Harley nodded to Peter’s wrists. “Maybe if you want to hide your identity, don’t wear web shooters in public.” 

Peter tugged down his jacket sleeves, but it was too late anyway. “Oh.” He said softly. “I can trust you, right?”

“Can you?” Harley shrugged before letting out a short dry laugh. “Your secret’s safe with me. Don’t worry about it. No one would believe me if I said anything, anyway.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Peter asked, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. 

Another dry chuckle, but that was it before it went back to silence, the obvious sign that whatever he meant, it wasn’t something Peter was close enough to know. The boy sighed softly, returning to staring at the space between his feet. He knew he shouldn’t stress it. If Harley was invited to this funeral and not the one put on for the public, Pepper must’ve trusted him enough with everyone else's identities. That meant Peter could trust him too. 

“Tennessee, huh?” Peter asked, breaking the silence. He felt weird just sitting there with him and not talking. Like Harley was some kind of puzzle to solve. Maybe it was just because he obviously knew Tony before he had, and it was a question in the back of Peter’s head to know about their relationship. 

“What?”

“You said you’re from Tennessee? I mean, your voice -- southern.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Queens?”

“How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess. Your accent’s a little different though. It’s kinda nice.” 

“Thanks?” Peter wasn’t too sure how to respond. No one’s ever complimented him on the accent everyone in New York spoke in. He honestly didn’t realize he even had one. 

“People don’t talk to you, do they?”

“Ow.” Peter said, pretending to be hurt. “No. Not really. I’m not really good socially. Plus, I’m pretty much known as the nerd in my nerd school.” 

“They don’t talk to me either.” Harley sighed. “You get used to it I guess. Keep it in because no one’s listening anyway.” 

Peter was having a bit of trouble keeping up with the pacing of the conversation. He could have sworn Harley closed off the only other personal topic immediately, but now his words seemed pretty personal to him. He wasn’t sure what he should say, if he should say anything at all. 

But he did know what to say, because the feeling resonated with him a lot more than he would’ve liked it too. “I get it.” Peter said softly. “And then when you have a chance…”

“You don’t want to bother anyone because they’re busy enough without your problems.” 

“Yeah,” 

Harley smiled briefly, pulling a mirror expression from Peter, before looking away. Peter wasn’t sure how to feel about Harley, with all of the other emotions that had come flooding back to him, but there was something about the boy that made Peter just want to get to know him more. Maybe it was because of his background with Tony. Or maybe he found someone like him. 

Movement from the corner of his eye made Peter turn his head to look back at Harley, watching as he stood up on the steps and turned to walk away. 

“Wait,” Peter called, scrambling a little to get up. “Where are you going?” 

“No offense, but I don’t really know anyone here and I’m not normally one to make small talk.” Harley jabbed a thumb behind him to where cars were parked alongside the dirt road. “I’m just gonna go back to the hotel I’m staying at. My family’s waiting for me to get back anyway.” 

“Oh.” Peter was a little more disappointed than he was expecting to be. And then, he was talking without even reviewing his thoughts. “Do you-do you want my number?” Harley looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “Uh,” Peter cleared his throat. “In case you want someone to listen.” 

Harley raised his chin a fraction and narrowed his eyes as he looked Peter up and down, as if he was deciding whether he was good enough to accept. After a long minute, one that had Peter fidgeting in his spot, his hand trying to debate whether to go to his phone in his pocket or not, Harley answered. “What the hell,”

He stepped back toward Peter, pulling a small busted up phone like his own from his back pocket and Peter realized that he should probably do the same. 

“Don’t give it to anyone else, okay?” Harley said seriously, and Peter could only nod his head as he saved Harley’s name to his contacts. “I’ll see you around, I guess.” 

“B-bye.” Peter waved as Harley began to walk away. He watched until Harley was out of sight, disappearing behind the Starks’ home down the road. 

Peter realized that he should probably head back inside and join everyone else now that he was in a better headspace. Taking a deep breath, he turned to walk through the doors, hearing the light chattering from the other side before his hand even reached the doorknob. But before he could turn the handle, his phone’s screen lit up with a text. 

From Harley. 

Reading it, Peter smiled. Something about the message gave him the feeling that he’d made a new friend amidst the chaos of the world. And that if he didn’t mess it up, they could really be something. 

He let the thought of happiness stay front and center in his mind. But by letting it take control, letting it keep a small smile on Peter’s face even as he walked inside, Peter ignored the warning his spider sense was trying to give him.

The feeling of someone watching him.

The sign of danger. 


	2. Chapter 2

Everything seemed so different. New York was in mourning. The _world_ was mourning.

Around every corner there were Iron Man or Black Widow or Captain America murals (if only they knew he wasn’t dead). Every newspaper headline was about the fallen heroes. Every news channel only had two topics: the weather or The Avengers. Remembrance. A constant reminder.

It felt weird for Peter to be wearing his suit again. 

It’s been a couple of days since the funeral, and Peter wanted to blow off some steam before he had to go back to school on Monday. The education system sorted the Blipped -- that’s what the world had begun to call everyone who had been snapped away in 2017 -- back into classes. It didn’t take too long, which was a first, to say the least.

Peter hadn’t made his reappearance as Spider-Man yet, and there were rumors speculating that he was gone too. He knew he should let people spot him, assure them that he was still going to be the friendly neighborhood hero that New York used to be beginning to like. As he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, he wondered how different it would be. Would he be welcomed? Would New York be better off without him? They’d gone five years without him.

Peter just shook his head, the nanotechnology covering his face to create his mask. Blinking a few times to calibrate the tech inside, he was welcomed by Karen; but also advised to be careful.

After a quick goodbye to May, Peter set off outside. Not exactly sure what he was looking for. _Bad guys_ , he guessed. 

Peter could see the difference in the streets as he swung above them. If he ignored the shouts of his shadow gaining attention, he could see the already crowded streets and sidewalks even more dense. Within them and in nearby shops, reunions and parties. People were crying and laughing. Yelling and running. 

The population in New York -- the whole world, really -- grew by half in just a few moments. While that calls for celebration, it could also be a huge problem. People were in need of jobs, houses. 

“Is that Spider-Man?” 

Peter decided to land on top of a nearby street sign just next to a small park in the middle of Queens. “Hey,” he waved. “How’s everyone doing?” 

“Spider-Man’s back!” 

Soon, a crowd amassed around Peter, quicker than he could have shot a web and jumped away. Out of obligation, Peter felt he should stay. 

“I just wanted to check in. Y’know, see how everyone was--”

Peter’s own voice was quickly drowned out by the shouts of clamoring people. Even with Karen in his ear, trying her hardest to place the different questions and statements to the people that said them, Peter still couldn’t process one question at a time. 

It was too much too fast. So many things were being shouted, and he didn’t know how to answer any of them. He was expecting welcomes, not to be asked to take the responsibility of the heroes of New York, or to have a plan in case something like another alien invasion happened. His breathing got heavier and his thoughts started to race trying to figure out what to do.

“Uh-” Peter panicked, leaning away from the crowd. “I’m--I’m sorry.” He said quickly before he shot a web to the nearest building and tried to get away as fast as he could. 

Being in the air and swinging around helped Peter calm down. It seemed pretty ironic, the adrenaline acting more like a stress reliever rather than pumping him up. It always had, after he got over his initial fear of not being able to catch himself. The feeling of being weightless sent Peter into a state of mind where most of the time, he could find peace. 

After a couple of minutes, Peter decided that maybe stopping wouldn’t be the best idea. Instead, after calming down, he looked around to see if there was anything he could do. Get back into the role of Spider-Man -- even if it only felt like he took a two week break instead of a five year one. In what could be perceived as both good and bad -- mostly bad -- it didn’t take Peter long to find someone in need of help. 

“Come on, just give me your money,” 

Peter immediately looped back around towards the voice, perching on the top of the building and peering into a shadow covered alley where a woman was being held at knifepoint and looking through her purse with trembling hands. 

“Come on!” Her attacker urged, pushing the blade closer and making the woman jump. 

“I don’t- I don’t have any money! I don’t have my job anymore!” She pleaded and Peter got ready to drop down. “Please!”

“That ring then,” She commanded and the woman clutched her hand. 

“No, please,” she sobbed as the blade inched closer. Peter landed quietly on the ground behind them. “It’s all I have left.”

“Weren’t you told not to play with knives as a kid?” Peter asked, announcing his presence. Both the mugger and the woman turned their attention to him. “Or is the saying matches? I get them mixed up all the time.” 

“Great.” The girl with the knife groaned and Peter would have smiled if they actually would have seen it. The woman pressed herself against the wall, eyes wide with surprise and Peter wished she would just run. They never run. “The insect is back.”

Peter barely had a second to protest before the blade came slashing in his direction, binging off his arm with a screeching noise. With a flick of his wrist, he webbed the weapon and yanked it from her grip. Is this what happened in five years? Petty thieves honed their reflexes? Peter would have to be on guard for next time. 

“Suit upgrade,” Peter chuckled, masking his own surprise. “Pretty nice, huh?” He quickly got over the fact that if he were wearing his other suit, his arm definitely would have been sliced a lot quicker than the girl in front of him did, and he took advantage of her stunned state, webbing her arms to her sides and her feet to the ground. 

“Oh, come _on_.” 

“What? Don’t steal.” Peter rolled his eyes and walked past where she was struggling against the webbing that held her in place to her victim, who was now calming down when she realized she wasn’t in any immediate danger. 

“Spider-Man?”  
  
“That’s me,” Peter sighed. “Are you okay, ma’am?” 

“I think so.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”  
  
“Just doing my job.” He paused. “Do you need a lift home?” 

“Don’t worry about me getting home,” She waved Peter off. “Don’t you have more important things to be doing?”  
  
“What?” Peter questioned, his confusion almost strong enough to mask a voice crack through the thicker accent he was speaking in. 

“Like Avenger things? You’re an Avenger now, right? The Avengers never really helped the little people like us.”

“Oh, no, miss.” Peter stammered. “I’m not an Avenger. I mean, I’m not _really_ part of the team--”

“Ha! So you’re just a wannabe!” The woman who attacked laughed and Peter frowned, ignoring her and her partial truth. 

“Miss, if you don’t need my help, you should really be going.” Peter spoke, backing away. “Stay safe, okay?” 

He only saw the woman nod before he pulled himself away, already back to taking deep breaths. 

Peter just wanted to go back to being Spider-Man the way it was before. He would save people or even help them cross the street. They would thank him (or yell at him. It’s happened before) and he would be off to do it again. But the thing was, everything was different now. The world had gone through a terrible loss. And just when they finally got life back to normal, everyone that had died came back to life, followed again by loss. There was no way things were going back to normal anytime soon. Even if they were, it was going to take time. 

Peter wasn’t sure if he could handle the questions. The next two times he found a situation where he was needed, the person he helped would ask about his role in the Avengers, without fail. And he understood why, if he were in their shoes, he probably would too. But Peter didn’t know if he could handle the responsibility. Knowing that if the world was in danger again, he would _have_ to step in and do something. Because he was one of the only people who _could_ do something about it. All it did was remind him that he was just a boy at the end of the day. A boy pretending to be a superhero. The adults who had that job were now gone. All it did was remind Peter about the aching hole in his chest; the one that was finally getting filled being smashed down again.

“I think it’s time to go home,” Peter muttered to himself where he was sitting on the branches of a lone tree. 

_You’ve only been out for three hours,_ Karen reminded him and Peter nodded his head and sighed. Truth is, he knew he had to take being Spider-Man and getting pelted with questions in increments until the world —or at least New York — put everything behind them. Stopped making him question what his role was now, because he didn’t even know. 

He was about to head home when the buzzing in his head started. A low hum radiating from deep in his brain and spreading to the rest of his body, telling him to look around. Heightening his senses. Something bad was happening. 

His head shot up and he clung to the side of the tree, climbing around to see if he could spot something out of the ordinary. Usually when that happened, his' Peter Tingle' as Aunt May had coined it (he liked to think it was still a working name), it meant a fist was about to get thrown in his face, or he was going to get hit in the back with a crowbar, or an alien spaceship was landing in the middle of Manhattan. 

Peter thought he didn’t see anything other than normal people going about their business until he saw a shrouded figure quickly turn a corner, their long tan coat the only evidence that they turned a corner. 

As far as he knew, it was never brought to his attention like that, his entire sixth sense kicking in, when someone was watching him. For a split second, Peter thought maybe he was just overreacting until a thought planted itself into his brain: what if they were dangerous?

Hopping out of the tree and catching himself right before he hit the ground, Peter used the velocity to propel himself around the corner of trees, landing right on top of the Mould Fountain. Peter knew he didn’t have long before someone spotted him. This was a public place with at least a hundred people walking by, so he asked Karen to help him by tagging anyone wearing a tan coat. 

He scanned every person around, and Peter didn’t understand why he couldn’t see anyone. Not even running in the distance, which is what he expected. Especially if they were watching him. 

He was about to give up and swing away before he caught anyone else's attention when Karen highlighted a tan belt laying on the pavement right next to the base of the fountain. One that would go with the tan coat. The A.I. confirmed that the odds of it being the same material were 89%. 

It didn’t make any sense. No human could run fast enough to get out of the reach of his suit's sensors. The only place to hide would be the trees — assuming they could climb fast enough, but Peter was right on their tail behind so that couldn't have happened — or in the crowd. But since there was no tan coat, that wasn’t a possibility either. 

Peter just shook it off, staring into the water below him. He told himself that he must have just let his imagination and paranoia run. So he ignored the fact that his sense was still buzzing in the back of his skull. And he ignored the weird pull that was urging him to jump down into the water fountain. Shaking his head, he wrote it off as one of the unchecked things on his childhood to-do list. Instead, hearing someone shout his name, he made it a clear direction to head home. He needed to do something else, anything else, leaving the feeling of eyes on his back behind him.

“May, I'm home!” Peter called out as he hopped into his bedroom, his suit shrinking into a small compact case and appearing in the palm of his hand. Peter shoved it into his dresser drawer under mounds of socks, and then walked out of his room. “May?” 

It wasn’t until he called a second time and got no response that Peter remembered that she was working a shift at QHC. He was home alone. Turning around, he just went back to his bedroom and sast down on his bed. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, that was the reason why he went out as Spider-Man in the first place. To give his brain something to do. Peter eyes his open backpack, all of his supplies for school stuffed into its pockets excluding his broken laptop; that was sitting on his desk, still waiting to be fixed. Slipping on his sneakers, Peter stood up and grabbed another bag and his laptop. He needed to fix it up anyway, so why not do that? 

Tugging on his jacket as he walked out the front door, locking it behind him, Peter set off down to the nearest repair shop. And if he didn’t get anywhere there, the Dumpsters always could be promising.

There was some relief walking through Queens as Peter Parker. For one, no one knew he was the Spider-Man, so he wasn’t constantly pestered with questions. Also, there was the familiarity of just dodging people and weaving through the heavy foot traffic that automatically came with walking. 

The weather was getting warmer, and his jacket wasn’t doing him any good. Peter was practicing how he would ask for the parts he needed as he walked, reciting it like lines of a play in his head. He could see the repair shop in the distance, Peter nearly getting to his destination, when the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood up; the buzzing returning. 

Whipping around, Peter raised his head to search the street for anyone looking at him, and once again, he saw a tan coat. Except, it seemed darker. It was wet, like it had been recently doused in water. The figure stayed still long enough for Peter to realize that, but not long enough for him to see their face. He glanced to the repair store before groaning and taking off in the opposite direction. This was twice in the same day he spotted the same person watching him. Following him. And he wanted to figure out why. This time, they weren’t getting away. 

But Peter knew he had to be careful. The first time, he spotted them as Spider-Man. This time, he was only Peter Parker. He wasn’t too sure yet if that meant whoever they were, they knew his identity, or if it was a crazy coincidence. Either way, he knew he had to move. Whoever this person was, they moved as fluidly as liquid. 

It was one of the most difficult chases Peter has ever been in. Not only was he not in his suit, but even with his increased speed, he could only catch glimpses of the billowing tan coat in between people, or as they turned sharp corners. 

The world was blurred as Peter ran, fighting his instinct to run on the wall and hop from building to building because at that point it would have been easier. Of all the times he didn’t take his suit. Not even his web shooters. 

Out of breath, Peter came to a stop in a dead end alley, facing the brick wall. The buzzing in his head was louder than ever, and he knew that whoever the person was, was close. At that point, Peter was waiting for them to show themselves like they were invisible. For all he knew, they were. He was in the perfect position too. Cornered in a secluded alley, just as the sun was setting. 

But he figured he shouldn’t let them get the upper hand. So praying that there weren’t any cameras nearby, Peter scaled the wall and perched over the gangway, peering to find the tan coat again. 

His breath was coming out heavy and his heart was beating hard in his chest, but everything seemed to freeze when the coat came back into view.

Peter was right in his assumption that the coat was drying, as the figure strolled almost carelessly into the alley, a low head of long raven colored hair still hiding a face. Peter inched back to stay out of view, but he knew he didn’t go back nearly far enough. He wanted a look at her face. 

What he wasn’t expecting was for him to get his wish. 

The buzzing in his head was almost enough to give him a headache as the woman looked up, her eyes instantly finding Peter like she knew exactly where to look. A piercing crimson red. Peter felt his stomach churn from the unsettling color and the shock of holding eye contact. Her face was sharp and angular, but beautiful. Her features were smooth and young, but she seemed to radiate an aura of agelessness and power. To Peter, she was the type of person that could kill you in a heartbeat but you wouldn’t care because she would have made you beg for it. 

Peter hadn’t realized he was frozen in a trance until she spoke. A voice low but clear and melodic. “Follow me.” 

Her words seemed to have a pull, like she had put Peter on a leash. As she walked away, he nearly fell off the roof because of it. 

“What the hell?” Peter gasped as he steadied himself. For all the times Peter had wondered what it was like to follow a command without disobedience, he had finally figured out what it felt like. He felt like the woman had control of his body, nearly following her without any question, his limbs trusting her rather than his own mind. And that was dangerous. 

The bad thing was, he had to follow her. Command or not. She obviously was looking for him, and as much as both his common sense and his spider sense was screaming at him to do the opposite, he climbed down and set food back on the ground. 

Stepping back onto the sidewalk, he couldn’t see the woman or the tan coat, but it didn’t matter. Her words were still echoing in his head, giving Peter an invisible tether to her. All he had to do was follow it. 

Peter followed the pull for what felt like hours. Or maybe it was seconds. The logical part of him knew it was only about ten minutes. Because with every step, he knew he was walking right into a trap. He knew he should go straight to the Avengers and ask them for help. Whoever this woman was, she was a threat they needed to know about. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself from walking once he started. He couldn’t reach for his phone. All of him was focused on following the tether. Finding the woman. Figuring out what she wanted. 

Peter hadn’t realized where he was until the ground underneath his feet shifted. Hard pavement turning to soft sand. For a moment, he reclaimed his body, his consciousness returning to him. 

Looking around, Peter realized he was at Rockaway Beach. The moon was rising in the quickly darkening sky. The smell of salt water filled the air, the sound of the water hitting the shore and the wind picking up filling his ears. 

Slowly, he began to walk farther into the beach. The woman was nowhere in sight, but the pull was still there. Weaker, now that Peter was making the decision to look himself instead of letting it take over. It was a fight, not letting her power take over when it was so easy, but he needed to keep his senses for himself. 

Suddenly there was a sound. Soft and clear as it carried through the wind. It took only a second for Peter to realize it was a song, one that sounded beautiful and melancholic even if he didn't recognize the language. 

The melody was intricate and smooth. And once he became aware, Peter got hit with a force stronger than the tether that had led him here. 

The song. The song was doing this. Behind its beautiful sounding words, Peter could feel whatever magic that brought him here look for ways inside his head. He didn't know the translation, but it was clear enough. The archaic words gently prodded at his brain, grasping at the parts that controlled his limbs. They spoke to him, soft and persuasive whispers. 

_Come to the water. Come to me._

Fighting it again was harder. He struggled to continue to ensure every step forward was of his own bidding. His head throbbed in pain, both from his danger sense having been on high alert for so long and from combating the vice that wanted so bad to grip him tight and not let go.

Peter spotted the tan coat shedded on the ground. It would have been camouflaged against the sand if not for the it getting pulled into the water with every tide washing over the sand. Looking out into the ocean, he spotted the woman.

The song had stopped. He didn't know when it had, but it did. Peter had a moment's relief. 

She seemed to be standing there. Just waiting. The buzzing told him she was aware of Peter’s presence, but she didn’t make a move. 

Taking a deep breath, preparing for a fight, Peter decided to make the first play. “Hey!” he shouted to her. “Who are you?” 

She said nothing, but there was far from silence. Peter took a step back, almost tripping over his feet, as the sound of the water sloshing against the sand grew. He watched with wide eyes as the shoreline receded like it was being pushed back from the beach. In a matter of seconds, Peter’s gaze travelled up as the water formed itself into a towering wave fifteen feet in front of him.

The only thing he could think was that somehow, the woman was controlling the water. It was all he had time to theorize before the water came crashing down in his direction. 

In a blink, the wave hit Peter like a bag of bricks and in varying degrees of pain. The wave completely enveloped him in the water, pulling him far into the ocean. He tried to swim to the surface, but there were powerful currents pulling him farther and farther out. Deeper and deeper down. 

He wanted to scream, but he knew it wouldn’t help. He was the one who fell into the trap he knew was coming. He was going to die, and he wouldn’t even know the reason why. 

The water raged around him like it was a storm underwater. He forced his eyes to stay open despite the burn, frantically looking around for his killer. But it wasn’t necessary. Because she was bringing him right to her. 

Peter couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The woman was smiling at him, cruel, but also like she was admiring her catch. “Hello,” She said, her voice clear as a bell to his ears. Even under the water. 

His gaze trailed down when he caught a second movement from the corner of his eyes. But it wasn’t someone else. It was something. A fish tail. It was black, even darker than her hair, with the odd crimson scale. It was long and menacing, with an oily gleam to it even though it seemed to douse any beam of light around it. It was really a tail, one that transitioned seamlessly into her upper body. A body with human skin. _Her tail,_ Peter realized.

Peter could deal with the fact that aliens were real. That there was life on multiple and maybe an infinite amount of planets outside of Earth. That the gods of Asgard and the Nine Realms were real. But this woman in front of him, with her beautiful but deadly features, with her fish tail. She proved the existence of mermaids. But she was nothing like Disney. She was terrifying. 

“Relax,” she crowed in a soft voice, tilting her head as Peter continued to thrash around. To no avail. “You carry so much hurt. I want to enjoy you.”

Because the cool water hadn’t already seemed to do so, her words raised goosebumps on Peter's skin. His lungs began to scream in protest, yearning for oxygen. He was already weak from fighting to keep his own mind and now he was quickly losing oxygen. Peter was getting lightheade. He couldn’t focus. 

“Stop.” His word was garbled and choked out. The attempt made her smile widen. Become even more cruel.

“Oh my sweet boy, why would I do that when you’re going to give me so much power?” she asked, swimming closer. At the same time, Peter felt himself be pulled forward, until her hand reached up and clamped his jaw, holding his head up between three fingers. 

She leaned towards him and Peter opened his mouth to protest, twisting in her grasp. He only got a mouthful of water. “If you know what's good for you, come back tomorrow at dusk. I have high hopes for you yet.” 

At her words, she closed the distance between them. Her mouth molded over Peter’s like she was sealing a deal. No matter how hard Peter tried to will his arms to push her off, the water held him in place like tightly bound chains.

A flash of light nearly blinded Peter, making him squeeze his eyes shut. The woman pushed off of him, and he heard her voice echo as it carried through the water.

“ _I’ll be waiting._ ”

Peter forced his eyes open the second he felt the hold she had over him disappear. His first instinct was to swim up to the surface, no matter if he was unsure if he could even make it. Peter hadn’t even moved a muscle before pain had incapacitated him. 

His legs began to burn. It felt like his bones were being broken and reset by some invisible force. He screamed with what little breath he had left.

He could feel himself losing consciousness as he doubled over his legs, the two limbs searing like his skin was being ripped open and stitched back together. His jeans and sneakers ripped, and it felt like something was being pushed through, slicing his skin from the inside out. Starting with his feet, the feeling worked its way up his legs. Peter couldn’t bring himself to watch what was happening to him, but he was grateful for whatever poison the woman had given him was hurting so much he could barely feel it anymore as it worked its way up his legs. By the time it reached his lower stomach, it felt like hundreds of papercuts instead of sharp shards of glass. He wasn’t sure if it was any better. Especially in the salt water, making each cut sting and add to the torture.

Peter couldn’t feel his legs, but he knew they weren’t gone. Weakly, he lifted his eyelids, struggling to keep consciousness, but all he saw was a flash of red where his legs should’ve been before his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

His body went limp.

Within a blink, Peter was in the dark. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief mentions of speculated attempted suicide

The first thing Peter noticed was the sand he was lying on. It was wet and coarse and everywhere, pushing into his skin uncomfortably. Next, was the sun beating down on him. Hot for a spring day, but the cool ocean air carried from the breeze helped soothe him and keep his skin from overheating under the light. 

He felt stiff and his body hurt, like he had been exercising for three days with no breaks and was now resting for the first time. His chest ached with every shallow breath he took, and that's when the memories came flooding back. 

Peter remembered drowning. He remembered choking under the water. He remembered _her,_ the evil mermaid that had led him to his death. Was this heaven then? It couldn't have been. Why would he still be in pain? He tried to shift, but his arms felt like lead. And his legs…

Peter tried to open his eyes, but a gust of wind blew sand into his face and he closed them immediately. Last he knew, his legs had gone through torture. Become numb. But with effort, Peter could feel himself moving his toes. He was barefoot, but that didn’t matter to him. What mattered was that his legs were okay. The action led to a soft tingling pain shooting up the length of his lower body, like those muscles had fallen asleep and were slowly waking up, but it was nothing compared to what he had felt earlier. Yesterday?

The sun was out, which meant that he had spent at least the night at the beach. It felt like to him he was still on the beach. His hair was still damp, so was his jacket and shirt, so he must have washed up to shore from under the water. 

Peter tried moving again. He was alive. He survived. He didn’t know how long he was out there, or what time it was, but he needed to leave before the beach opened and people found him. 

Mustering his strength to his arms, Peter pushed himself up into a sitting position, turning and facing the water. 

“Crap,” He groaned, his voice coming out rough because his throat was raw and dry from the salt water. It didn’t take him long to see that there was absolutely nothing covering him from the waist down, and he quickly shedded his waterlogged backpack and shrugged off his jacket to cover his lap. 

Curses fell from his lips when he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. At least it was still there, but it wasn’t turning on. His laptop probably wouldn’t either. So now he was stuck on the beach, pantsless, and with no way to contact anyone to pick him up. 

Peter started to swipe off the caked on sand from his face and overlooked the water. 

It looked calm. Inviting. Nothing like he had experienced last night. The storm he was trapped in...the currents that held him in place...those crimson eyes…

“Peter!” The voice he heard was distant, but it was calling to him nonetheless. He turned his head to look behind him, but he saw nothing but the beach. Then a shadow cast overhead, flying past quickly, and he looked up into the sky, bringing up his arm to shield his eyes against the sun to find the figure that was landing a couple meters away. 

“Peter!” He shouted again. Peter recognized him as Sam in his Falcon suit. His wings folded and Sam broke out into a jog, heading in Peter’s direction. “I found him,” he spoke, pressing a finger to his ear, “Rockaway Beach.” 

“Hey,” Peter weakly called back. 

“Are you...are you not wearing any pants?” 

“Long story,” Peter coughed, the feeling like knives dragging down his throat and bringing attention to pulsing pain in his head. Squinting up at Sam, he could see a frown set into the man's face. 

“You can tell it back at the base. Everyone was worried about you.” Sam said, outstretching a hand. “Can you walk?” 

“I...I dunno.” Peter answered honestly after a minute, tying his jacket around his waist to cover as much as he could. His head still felt clouded, but there was something different in Sam’s voice from what he remembered. It seemed like Peter couldn’t only hear the worry in Sam’s voice, but like he could _feel_ it. It wasn’t like experiencing worry himself, but rather a type of intuition. He knew that was the feeling Sam was experiencing, and he would have known even if Sam didn’t speak at all.

Peter tried to shake that thought away. Mantis was the empath. Not him. It must have just been something he was making up. His head did hurt, maybe he hit his head and it was making him think weird. But then again, last time he tried to push something away, the last time he told himself it wasn’t anything, it led to him nearly drowning after being kissed by an evil mermaid. 

_Well, that sounds crazy_ , Peter thought to himself as he grabbed Sam’s hand. He wasn’t sure if he could walk once his weight shifted to his legs, and Peter would’ve fell down if it wasn’t for Sam being there to catch him. 

Luckily, Peter saw a car drive right up onto the beach, Bucky and May exiting, and Peter smiled weakly as his aunt rushed to him and wrapped her arms around him tightly. He didn’t have it in him to tell her that it felt like she was crushing him. Especially because he could swear he could feel her worry. Her fear that she wouldn’t be able to find him. Peter didn’t know how to explain it, but it was just like another faction of gut instinct. 

“Peter! Oh my God, were you out here all night? Why didn’t you come home last night?” May breathed out immediately, a relieved sigh escaping her as a hand ran through Peter’s hair. Then she pulled back. “Where are your pants?” 

Peter couldn’t answer, feeling his lips tremble. Instead, he just hugged her again. 

He tried his hardest not to cry, but it wasn’t really something he could control. Just a few hours ago, he almost died. Again. Instead of finding him alive and conscious, Sam could have easily flown by and found Peter’s dead body on the beach. But somehow, Peter survived. But if he hadn’t, there could’ve been a chance that he wouldn’t have been able to see May again. See anyone again. Not able to have said a final goodbye, and they wouldn’t have had any idea why he was gone. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” Peter heard Bucky say, and through tear filled eyes, he looked up. Peter let go of his aunt. Sam picked up his dripping backpack, sending a quick look of disgust in its direction. 

“I’ll meet you guys there.” Sam said and Bucky nodded in his direction before he walked to stand by Peter’s side, offering his arm to help Peter stay upright. 

Peter muttered a soft thanks before he felt water hit the backs of his heels. Glancing behind him, it looked like high tide was coming. 

Another wave hit Peter’s feet, and this time, it sent relief flooding through his body, returning some strength back to his legs. 

Him, May, and Bucky began to move forward before he could the next tide could hit, but Peter glanced curiously back at the water before he slipped into the backseat of May’s car. 

The ride was silent, the air thick with unspoken questions. Peter knew neither May or Bucky didn’t want to ask him what happened until he was checked out, until they knew nothing was wrong. But Peter already knew something was wrong. 

He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it himself, but he felt like something had changed in him. It was just like when he had first gotten his powers from that spider. He knew he had changed, obviously. He had gotten taller and he could see clearly without glasses. He’d gained muscle, his senses were heightened and almost overwhelming, and he found out he’d developed a tolerance for nearly anything. But most of all, when he was just starting, he could feel his power quite literally coursing through his veins.

He didn’t know what happened to him the night before, but he had that same feeling now that he did back in 2015. Like there was new power in him. Different powers. He knew how the thought sounded, but it wasn’t all that farfetched. After all, he was living in a world where gamma radiation and science can give people powers, there are stones that control all aspects of reality and space itself and they could also give powers, there were gods and monsters, and some people were just born with powers. Who’s to say kissing a mermaid couldn’t? 

A freaking _mermaid._ An _evil_ freaking mermaid.

Peter held back a groan as he remembered. Everytime he closed his eyes, he could see the woman, picture clear as day. How her eyes locked with his. How her voice kept him in a trance he fought to stay out of. Her reminder. How she was waiting. 

Soon they were out of the city and on the highway. Buildings turned to trees. Peter recognized their location the closer they got to it from when Happy had brought him for the first time his sophomore year. A couple more minutes, and Bucky had parked in front of the Avengers compound. 

Sam was landing just as the three of them were heading toward the main doors, and offered to help Peter. But by then, his own healing factor the spider bite gave him was doing its job, and for the most part, Peter could walk himself. 

He felt bad, dripping water through the pristine halls, but Sam and Bucky told him not to worry about it. They turned corners in highways, took an elevator ride, and turned even more corners, before Peter could see they were leading him to a medical wing. Bruce was there waiting. By the looks of it, preparing for his arrival. Peter still wasn’t entirely used to Bruce Banner’s new appearance, but it looked like Bruce had time to get used to it. Even with his arm in a sling. 

May had been making casual small talk, filling the silence as they walked, but she quieted when Bruce saw their arrival. 

“Hey!” He greeted. “Are you okay?” He glanced at Peter’s legs, and Peter was grateful he didn’t make a comment. 

“Nothing broken.” Peter said before backtracking. “At least, I don’t think.” 

“Come sit, we’ll figure it out.” 

Peter felt like he was an experiment, four sets of eyes watching his every move as Bruce hooked him up to a machine to take his vitals, silently communicating in their adult language he still couldn't quite figure out. He didn’t like being the center of attention in this situation. He felt sick, but it wasn’t from anything that happened to him as far as he could tell. It was more from feeling everyone’s anxiety and worry.

It was interesting, to say the least, with more than one person in the room. If Peter were going to let himself believe he could now feel emotions, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, he could only explain it like how he felt pulled to the woman the day before. While when he was following her, it was like some invisible string was attached to the both of them, leading and pulling Peter in her direction. But with this, it seemed like everyone had their own separate link. Like different channels on the television. He could switch between them, or he could feel them at the same time like having four different tabs open, all of them blaring different music at the same time. 

It was a little overwhelming, keeping the links open like that, so since he didn’t know how to turn it off, Peter opted to just focus on one at a time. It helped to distract from the tests Bruce was running. 

While everyone’s worry was gradually subsiding, Bruce had some worry of his own. More so if he was going to find something wrong with Peter. May was feeling the same way, his aunt chewing on her lip as she waited. Sam and Bucky had left the room, but before they did, Peter had caught their concern. Underneath that, Bucky seemed to have levels of emotion Peter couldn’t even start to unpack, but by the empty feeling they left in his gut, it was safe to assume that they weren’t too good. Peter didn’t like the underlying feeling that they left to go talk about him, that being more of an observation rather than this potential new power. He couldn’t really blame them. 

He was left completely alone when Bruce led him to a separate room for an MRI scan right after the x-rays. Peter tried his hardest to think of anything else other than him being in the confined space, keeping his breathing even the best he could. Ever since Vulture, small spaces were not something he could enjoy. 

He also couldn’t help but to think an MRI was a little extreme, but he was the one to bring up that he thought he hit his head when Bruce asked if anything was hurting, other than his legs. 

Peter was back on a bed, May and Sam also having returned to the room, when Bruce received the results. 

“Well, your blood seems normal from the vial I took -- elevated radioisotopes, but normal for you. X-ray shows nothing, not even the tiniest fracture. Same with MRI. All clear. Everything is normal for you.” Then Bruce chuckled, mainly to himself. “Show these to any other doctor, and they would’ve had a field day trying to figure out how you’re still alive with the amount of radiation in you, but you’re perfectly normal, Peter.” 

“Oh thank God,” May muttered. 

“So now that we have that all cleared up,” Sam started, crossing his arms and nodding in Peter’s direction. “You wanna tell us what happened?”

“Okay, just hear me out guys, okay?” Peter started, already gaining narrow looks. “This is going to sound insane.” 

So Peter told his story. Starting with how he couldn’t handle the questions being bombarded on him when he tried to go on patrol, to how he went back home to try and buy the new parts he needed for his laptop. He told them about how he felt he was being watched before as Spider-Man, and then how he actually realized he was being watched while he was out as himself. How there was a woman following him, and when she had cornered Peter, how he had followed her. He told them about how when she spoke, he felt compelled to do what she said, and that she lured him to the beach. How she could control the water and pulled him under. How she was a mermaid. How she’d nearly killed him. 

For some reason, Peter left out the fact that she had kissed him. He told Bruce, May, and Sam how it felt like she had done something to him, how his legs felt like they were being rearranged, but he left out the blinding light. The glimpse of red. 

By the time Peter had gotten to that part of the story, he could see their skeptical eyes. He could _feel_ the fact that they were having trouble believing him. 

“Look,” Peter sighed. “I know it sounds insane, but you gotta believe me.” He looked up at May. “I wouldn’t make this up. There’s a crazy fish lady out there, and she tried to kill me. I think she knows I’m Spider-Man!” 

“I think you should take a shower,” May smiled softly, but Peter’s heart deflated. None of them believed him. Or if they did, it was buried deep under their credibility of his story. Maybe feeling emotions wasn’t as good of a power he thought it might be. 

“Okay,” Peter quietly agreed, hopping off the table he was on. May and Bruce leaned forward to catch him if he needed it, but Peter held his hands up to stop them. The action was a little out of anger, he had wobbled a little. But Peter was trying to understand why they couldn’t just believe him. In this world, how hard was it to add mermaids to the list of impossible things?

As Peter found the bathrooms and was turning on the water, someone had knocked on the door. Opening it, he saw Bucky holding out some clothes for Peter to change into so he didn’t have to put the gown back on. Bucky didn’t say anything. He just gave Peter a sympathetic look as he took the clothes, and closed the door behind him. By the looks of it, the hoodie and sweatpants looked like Peter’s clothes. Sam must have stopped by his and May’s apartment to grab them before he met them at the compound. 

Peter didn’t realise how much he needed the shower until after he stepped under the water. A jolt of energy pulsed through him, making him gasp. Any exhaustion he had been feeling all but disappeared. His strength returned fully, and for the first time since that morning, Peter felt normal. Well, as normal as he could feel with this new power he knew he had. 

Peter outstretched his arm, watching beads of water drip down. He had questions, but the one front and center of his mind was: did the water do that? Did the water make him feel better? 

The longer he stood in the shower, the more sure he felt about the answer being yes. It was like severe dehydration in a sense, even though Bruce had said nothing had been wrong. He got the water, and Peter instantly felt like he could run a marathon. But before, without it, he felt drained and he struggled to think, to walk. His head felt clear now, and his body stopped aching. Peter thought back to the tide on the beach before they left. How the water hitting his feet had felt good. It only added to his slowly building theory. 

Peter stayed in the shower until the water turned cold. It was partly because he felt like he could escape the adults waiting for him, and partly because it was too good to leave. Like the water was a drug he was quickly becoming addicted too. 

After doing his best to dry off, not wanting to drip water anymore than he already had, Peter got dressed. He folded the clothes he was in before, along with the towel, and he tucked them under his arm as he exited the bathroom. 

The compound was silent, so it wasn’t too hard to pick up the low murmurs of May, Sam, Bruce and Bucky. Peter frowned when he realized they were still talking about him, going off the tone of their voices. He walked slower the closer he got, until he was right outside the door, making sure his steps were light so no one would know he was out there until he pushed the door open. 

Peter wasn’t originally going to eavesdrop, but when he felt the concern behind the door from the link, he paused. 

“May, you don’t think he would try to...he would try to kill himself, do you?” Peter heard Sam say hesitantly, and Peter took a deep breath. 

There was silence, and Peter could imagine his aunt shaking her head. “No. No, Peter wouldn’t.” She said firmly. 

“I’m just saying, with the trauma he’s gone through… I was looking through the suicide rate of this year, and it’s already increased by ten percent. Most of them were the people that had come back from after being gone those five years.”

“The kid’s already a superhero. That’s already a lot of pressure.” Bucky’s voice. “And Tony dying on top of that?” 

“Guys, stop,” Bruce interjected. “Peter’s a good kid. I don’t think he would try to commit suicide. Chances are the story was part of his imagination. Even if his bones did break, like he said they felt like they did, there would have been _some_ sign.” Peter heard the shuffling of papers. “But the x-rays show perfect bone structure, other than when he broke his nose when he was -- what, you said thirteen?” 

“Yeah,” May confirmed.

“Peter said he nearly drowned. That means, for a brief period of time, his body had no access to oxygen. That’s most likely why he passed out. Lack of oxygen can lead to a lot of things; strokes, chest pain...or in this case, hallucinations.”

“But was he lying, then?”

“Not necessarily,” Bruce stammered. “His brain would have made up the images, and therefore, have created the memories. He probably was telling the truth. His truth.” 

“But what if he’s right?” May frantically asked. “That there really is this- this _mermaid_ out there? Isn’t it possible? I mean, it isn’t improbable.” Then she laughed. It was harried, and a bit crazed. “Just a couple days ago, I met a Norse god and a handful of aliens.” 

Peter felt himself leaning towards the door, but he jumped and nearly gave away his position when another voice appeared behind him. 

“Who’re we spying on?” Twisting around, Peter saw Harley standing behind him. A small frown set on his lips as he glanced between Peter and the door. “Shit. Sorry,” Harley laughed lightly when he noticed he really scared Peter. “You good?” 

“Yeah,” Peter told him after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. It wasn’t hard to ignore the silence from the other side of the door. “I’m fine.” He lied.

Harley raised an eyebrow. “Sure you are.” Then he looked at the door again. “Sounds like you need someone to talk too.” 

Peter blinked. “I don’t wanna--” 

“I’m not doing anything.” Harley cut him off. “Just come on, before they bust us.” Harley gestured for Peter to follow him as he turned around. He hesitated a moment, looking at the closed door and seeing a shadow approaching, before he quickly fell in step with Harley. 

When they reached the end of the hall, Peter could feel eyes on him. Against not wanting too, knowing what he would see, he glanced over his shoulder to see May staring at him, an apologetic look on her face. Through the link, Peter could tell she was feeling regret. She knew he heard what they were talking about. 

“Where are we going?” Peter asked quietly, staring down at his feet. 

“My lab,” Harley laughed airily, like he didn’t believe his words.”  
  
“Your lab?” Peter questioned. 

“I know.” was all he said in reply, leading him away from the medbay and back to the elevator, pressing the third floor button. 

Peter let his curiosity distract him from everything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and eventually, Harley had quickly pressed a code into a keypad on glass doors, opening them, and revealing a workshop. One look, and Peter could tell it was brand new, spare one table against the wall with a few pieces of scrap metal. 

“Courtesy of Stark,” Harley outstretched his arms before dropping them to his side. 

“Is that why you’re still here?” Peter asked, looking around. “I just mean, I thought you would have been home by now.” 

“Well, apparently Tony left me a couple of things. Including a lab and room here at the Compound.” Harley shrugged. “Said to use it if I ever wanted a quote unquote ‘summer home’ among other things. I just figured to check it out, stay a while. If I didn’t like it, I would go home. End of story.” 

“Cool,” Peter breathed. 

“You’re acting like you don’t have one just down the hall,” Harley scoffed, sitting down and leaning against the back of his chair. 

“I never used it very often.” Peter pulled out another chair and sat down, placing the pile of clothes on the table next to him. 

“You should. I found out I have almost no limits for anything. I could make some pretty cool stuff here.” 

“Ah, I’m not much of an engineer. Mechanical, at least. More into chemistry and stuff like that.” Peter paused. “Are you?” 

“Yeah,” Harley spun in his chair. “Making stuff helps keep my mind busy. Plus, working with my hands helps me focus.” 

Peter just nodded, a silence falling over the room. It wasn’t long before Peter could feel Harley’s gaze on him, the air quickly turning serious. Peter sensed Harley about to ask just before he did. His worry wasn’t as strong as May’s, but it was there. He knew what had happened. 

“Are you okay?” His tone sounded indifferent, and Peter looked up. He wasn’t letting on just how much he meant the question. At least this power could help with liars. “I heard you went MIA last night.”

“I guess,” Peter shook his head. 

“You’re not.” Peter narrowed his eyes. “I can see right through you, you know. It’s my superpower.” He said sarcastically, but meaning it at the same time. “What happened?”

“See, I kinda want you to like me, so if I don’t tell you, you won’t think I’m a crazy person.” Peter groaned, rubbing his face. He didn’t really want to tell his story again to someone who wouldn't believe him. 

“Try me.” Harley challenged, his eyes set on getting a response. Peter could feel as well as hear the determination behind his words, and something told him to give Harley a chance. 

So figuring it didn’t really matter, and Harley was the one to offer anyway, Peter retold the events from the day before up to the events just a few minutes ago. Mermaid and all. 

“Well, damn,” was all Harley said when Peter finished, taking a deep breath. 

“What?” Peter’s head shot up, staring at Harley.

“D’you think she’s gonna do it again?” 

“You--you believe me?” Peter asked, shocked.  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?” He raised his eyebrows. “Honestly, nothing fazes me anymore.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a first.”  
  
“They don’t?”  
  
“They think it was a carbon dioxide induced hallucination.” Peter scoffed dryly. “I know what I saw. I _know_ what happened to me.” 

Peter might not have known Harley all that well, but he appreciated that he was on his side. The thought made him smile. One person was better than none. He didn’t even detect any hints of suspicion coming from the boy. Was Harley really that open to believe him? Was he telling the truth? 

“It wouldn’t be hard for her to do it again to someone else. She’s really powerful.” Peter bit back the _maybe I should ask her,_ comment. He didn’t want to tell Harley that she wanted him to meet her tonight back at the beach. It would be hard enough for him to get out of the house with May there. He didn’t need someone else telling him it was a stupid decision to go alone. He already knew that. “I just know that she’s a bad guy, and she needs to get taken down.” 

“Well, you have my number,” 

Peter paused. “You...you want to help me?” 

“This is my first time in New York. _And_ I’m finally alive again. I don’t want some new villain taking over the world before I get to enjoy it.” He said firmly. “So yeah, I’m helping.” 

Peter wanted to be grateful to have someone on his team, but at the same time, he didn’t want to be in charge of someone getting hurt because of him. Peter barely survived when the woman brought him under the water. He didn’t want the same thing happening to Harley. Not when it was Peter’s powers that probably kept him alive. Harley was just human. No super quality about him. Other than his brain, maybe. 

“Okay.” Was what Peter said instead, not knowing quite how to say no. Not when Harley seemed so sincere in helping him, for whatever reason. Peter couldn’t quite figure out his emotion, which was the first time since this morning his new power had failed him. Was it because it wasn’t a power at all, or because Harley already had experience hiding his true feelings? Like on the day they met.

There was a knock on the door, and both Peter and Harley turned to see May standing on the other side of the glass. Harley looked at Peter, and he quickly gave a small nod. 

“Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y., you can let her in,” Harley spoke to the A.I. before turning his back to Peter, his hand going to reach over to one of the scrap pieces of metal on the table against the wall. 

“Hey,” May said once the door opened in a soft voice. “Bruce says you’re all good to go home, kiddo, if you want to leave.” 

Peter looked over at Harley, but the boy didn’t turn back around. Not even to acknowledge the fact that Peter might be leaving. Peter just sighed and grabbed the bundle of clothes, standing up. “Yeah. Um, sure.” he agreed, glancing once more at Harley, waiting to see if he wanted him to stay. 

“All right,” 

“Uh, see you later Harley,” Peter called over his shoulder as he stepped toward the door.

“Bye.” Harley said like he was distracted already by his project. For all Peter knew, he was. 

One last time, Peter tried to focus on the link to Harley. There was a faint connection, and he thought he felt disappointment, but he couldn’t be too sure. Testing it with May, her emotions seemed as strong as it was earlier. A clear connection. So why was Harley so hard to read? 

Peter didn’t know, but if he was going to be spending more time with him, maybe he would figure it out.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter has had the superpowers that made him Spider-Man for years now at this point. So long that he had forgotten how it was like those first few weeks. The days where he was grappling with strong and unfiltered abilities with no idea how to use or control them. Lights had been too bright. Noises too loud. He kept sticking to every surface he touched. His spider sense was going off for every little thing ranging from a paper towel on the ground he could slip on to a car crash happening twelve blocks away from where he was. Of course, over time he learned to manage his powers. But leading up until then, it had been like he took a quick swim in a pool from Hell. 

Even if he couldn't pinpoint exactly what had happened to him, Peter knew for sure that all of it was happening to him all over again. 

He felt overwhelmed. For every person he passed, it felt like someone was knocking on a door inside his brain, begging to come in. All of their emotions seeping through the keyhole and piercing through his own, forcing him to feel what they were going through. And since he was sitting in the passenger's side seat of May's car as she was driving the both of them home, he was passing a lot of people. Some weren't that bad. Feelings of boredom from walking down New York's streets. The occasional annoyance. A little bit of fear from the ones walking alone. Every now and then, every few blocks, he would even get a sudden rise of anger from someone having a bad day. But the worst by far was the emotion that was dominating New York. The one he didn't need empathy powers to be able to see and feel. 

Sadness surrounded him on all sides, in varying degrees from everyone. Each person was a saltwater wave crashing against the rocks and Peter was a lone plant growing at the base of the cliff, simultaneously drowning and drying out with every hit, prepared with zero defense. It hadn't been long since Peter and the rest of the victims of The Blip had returned - New York was still grieving - the world was still grieving. The loss of the five years they missed. The loss of their heroes. 

Some people were dealing with it better than others, but it didn't matter to Peter. Not when it all blended together like an endless pit in his chest. A black hole sucking any other positive feeling away from him no matter how much he fought to ignore the outside world. But he didn't have any experience with powers like these. He didn't know how to tune it out - or even down. He didn't know how to filter them. He didn't know how to make it stop. He couldn't care less about the emotions at this point. All he wanted was the reminder that Tony was gone to stop. 

May didn't say anything, but Peter knew she had to notice. There was no way she didn't. The car ride was silent. Even as they left the compound, no one dared say a word. It wasn't like either of them knew what to say anyway. 

Peter knew she silently endured watching as Peter began to break down under the weight of the world around him. The silent tears that started to stream down his face. The shallow breaths he tried to swallow away. The feeling that he couldn't escape manifesting in his hands as they started to shake. 

He tried focusing on May. Trying to reach out with that line he felt at the compound and hold on tight to that. To let the calm she tried to project for Peter to wash over him. But it wasn't much of an attempt. May's emotions were too shaky and fractured. Her calm was a façade. A temporary mask she was wearing to pretend to be strong for Peter until she was in a safe place to sort through her feelings alone. Peter knew she did that for him. She did it when his parents died. When his uncle died. She was strong for Peter so Peter would be strong. It worked then. Peter couldn't see behind it then.

But now he could, and his aunt was merely a fraction of the comfort she usually was. He could sense how thin her barrier was from holding back how she was really feeling. The worry eating inside her. She used driving as a distraction to keep her face as passive as possible, but Peter could feel the turmoil inside of her. His aunt was fighting a battle not even two feet away from him, trying to decide how much of Peter's words were the truth. Whether what had happened to him really happened to him or if his story was somehow a wild figment of his imagination caused by oxygen loss. It really was insane to think about it. It was even crazier for him to realize that if he wanted to, Peter could feel every single shift in her emotion if he concentrated hard enough. In a way, it was harder to do that than to let the mourning of the world consume him. Feeling her trying to the worry and disbelief she was feeling with all that she had gone through already, weighing Peter's credibility and the probability of everything he said he went through being the truth. It was the guilt she began to feel when Peter could tell which decision she was leaning toward - wanting to believe him - that made him release the tether binding her emotions to him. He already held enough guilt on his own. He didn't need to add hers to the mound. 

The amount of people lessened as they got closer to their Queens apartment, stepping through the doors and starting on the stairs because the elevator being out of order made it a seven floor walk up. The inflow of emotions that weren't Peter's slowed down and he felt like he could breathe again, wiping away the last of his tears. The relief Peter felt when it seemed like his reach only extended so far was nearly immeasurable. He could feel feelings that weren't his go away as he trudged upwards; feel them fade away to be left behind with the tenants in the lower floor apartments where they belonged. Peter knew there had to be some kind of purpose as to why this was now a power of his, but until he figured it out, it just felt like he was invading everyone's privacy. Or rather, like they were invading his. 

Peter nearly collapsed on the couch once he could get to it, hearing May shut the door behind him and feeling drained, as if he had just gotten back from a very active day of Spider-Man patrol. He was exhausted from trying to manage and process these new powers. He hated them. 

He didn't want this. 

He didn't ask for this. 

The couch shifted as May sat down, letting out a soft sigh. Peter knew she wanted to say something, but she was hesitant. Searching for the right words. She was afraid she would say something wrong and create a rift between the two of them. Unless the both of them decided to ignore the topic completely, Peter knew it was going to be a difficult topic to cover. Because whether May believed him or not, Peter was going to defend himself until the end. Until he could make everyone believe - not just Harley. 

He still didn't understand Harley at all. Why he had been the only one to believe Peter when they barely knew each other long enough to build up that kind of trust.

Sure, they had texted from time to time, kept in touch with conversations about movies and cars and filled with endless memes; so lighthearted compared to the event that allowed them to meet. And then there were the days where Peter couldn't sleep and just called Harley for the hell of it, not ever expecting him to pick up the line that late. But the older boy was always awake and answered the call, being the shoulder Peter needed to lean on to get away from the nightmares that threatened him behind his eyelids. He didn't want to bother Harley a lot, so there weren't many of those, but the nights where Peter just couldn't be alone and May needed to get up for a shift at QHC at four in the morning, or the Salvation Army on weekends, Harley was the person Peter had started to go to. He seemed to understand what Peter was going through without any words being exchanged, and it made Peter grateful that they had met. Because while Ned and Michelle were great friends, there was something with Harley that made Peter think that somehow, they understood each other the most. 

But still, there was a part of Peter's mind that kept telling him even then, they hadn't been friends long enough for Harley to just believe the word of what could easily be a crazed man. That's what everyone else seemed to believe, anyway. And they had known Peter longer than Harley had. 

He didn't know. Maybe Harley was just humoring himself, getting a kick out of Peter's rambles, playing along for his amusement. But Peter didn't want to believe that. He wanted to refuse to. Because while for some reason, he couldn't get a clear read on his emotions, it was hard for him to believe that Harley wasn't sincere. Maybe Peter was just being hopeful.

Whatever the case was, for the time being, Peter just wanted to believe that he had at least one person in his corner. 

"So, um," May cleared her throat, catching Peter's attention. "We can order out, if you want. Or we could have a leftovers night. We still have some of that pasta you really like in the fridge. Your choice." 

She tried to keep her voice light, like it was any normal day she was asking about dinner. Like it wasn't a day that consisted of Peter waking up half naked on a beach, claiming to have seen a mermaid the night before and then spent the rest of the day going through all the tests in the book just for the results to be enough reason to get Peter admitted into a psych ward. 

"It doesn't matter," Peter answered absently, his eyes trained on where his fingers were picking at the fabric of his pants. "Whatever you want." 

HIs aunt sighed again, and Peter could hear just how tired she was herself. Tired and beat. Peter didn't blame her. Even if she didn't believe him, he would never blame her. 

It went silent again. Looked like they were going to talk about this. 

"Are you okay?" May asked softly, and Peter saw her turn to him in his peripheral. "I saw you...in the car," 

Peter pursed his lips, trying to push through the rest of the heavy sadness before he spoke. His mouth was dry, He wanted water. "No." His answer was simple, voice close to a whisper. Breaking, even on the one syllable. He didn't want to lie. Not now. He would just feel worse when all he wanted to do is feel better. 

He would admit, him and May did have a bit of a rough start. She was younger and not ready to be a parent when she and Ben were together. But then Peter lost his parents. He needed a home and Ben was his only family. She was hesitant around him, having been thrown into parenthood with a young boy who was old enough to know that her and Ben weren't his parents and was too smart for his own good, always asking questions May wasn't sure how to answer. Ben was always the better one when it came to raising Peter in his early years. Slowly but surely, May became one of the best parental figures Peter could have asked for, it just took some time. But Peter couldn't help but to parallel this moment that he was living in right now to some of the moments that happened in those earlier years. Except now they both had questions for each other that were hard to answer. They both felt like they weren't ready. Like they were letting the other down. 

"I know...I know you must feel like we're all against you, Peter, but let me be the one to tell you that we're not." Peter stayed quiet. He didn't know how to answer. "It's - we're just trying to understand what happened to you. Why you were on the beach." 

"I already told you why." Peter tried his hardest to keep his voice from dipping into the accusing. "I already told you what happened." 

"Peter, do you know how that sounds? I- We- How are we supposed to believe it when the only proof is your word?" 

"You _believe_ me!" 

"I want to!" May cried, sounding frustrated. But not at Peter, he could feel. At herself. "I _know_ you're telling the truth. I know when you're _lying_ to me. And all of that? At the compound, in the car just now," She rubbed at her temples, Peter watching with tears forming in his eyes again as she squeezed her eyes shut to take a deep breath. "I know you aren't making this up sweetie, but Bruce and Sam...they need more. And I want to help you. I really do."

"But _you_ need more," 

May's expression hardened, a ghost of determination sweeping over her face and setting in her tone. "No. I want you to be safe." She held Peter's gaze and didn't let it waver. "I know I might have only trusted Tony Stark as far as I could throw him, but I also knew how much he meant to you. I know this is hard, Peter. We disappeared for five years, and we have to deal with the consequences that came with it. You fought in a war that saved the world. You watched him _die_. You need time to _heal_. It's not fair for you to be thrown into another conflict so soon. So if you want me to apologize for not taking your side right away, I want you to know why. Because I'm _scared_. And if what you say happened to you really happened to you, I don't want you getting hurt. I don't want to lose you. Do you understand?" 

Peter didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. May's emotions were close to smothering him, stronger than his own. He just nodded his head, letting her envelop him in another hug. Warm and comforting. 

He wondered if he should tell her. About the kiss. About his new power. How he thought he was already roped into some kind of danger, and that he just couldn't ignore it. He couldn't forget about it. Then he felt horrible as he came to the conclusion that he couldn't do it. That he couldn't tell her. All his life, Peter had made May worry. From the day she became his guardian to the day she found out he was Spider-Man. Peter didn't want her to worry. He loved her, and he didn't want her to hurt because of him. 

And because the Avengers didn't believe him either, Peter realized that he had to do this himself. 

May was right. None of this was fair. Peter's life hadn't ever been _fair_. But it fell to him to get to the bottom of this, He was always told that he was chosen for a reason. Though at this point in his life, Peter didn't know if he believed in Fate or any other higher power; if he did, it always seemed to be working against him. Throwing one roadblock after the other at him to see just what he could survive. So far, Peter was winning four to zero, and he wasn't about to give up his streak. 

He squeezed his aunt back, breathing deeply as he tried to calm himself, attempting to put up walls that would hopefully stop whatever part of him that searched for emotions. He couldn't quite tell if it was his head or if it was his heart. It didn't matter just yet. He would find out later. He was already trying to piece together a plan. 

"Can we warm up the noodles?" Peter asked in a small voice, speaking into May's hair. The woman laughed quietly and she tightened her arms around him.

Peter never wanted to let go, but it wasn't often he got what he wanted. 

* * *

Peter watched from the side of the tub as the water poured from the faucet, the water level rising inch by inch. He glided his fingertips over the surface, watching as he created ripples in the already churning water. Relishing in the spike of energy he seemed to get every time pulled his hand away just to put it back in. 

Peter was experimenting. 

He hoped he didn't wake May up. He'd waited an hour after she went into her room to come out of his, and was as quiet as he could be as he made his way to the bathroom, but there were limits to how much attention he brought to himself. The running water being outside those limits. His phone flashlight sat upon the sink, lighting up the small room in as little light as he could manage. Just enough for him to see what he was doing and not make a mess. The sun was still up because of the spring season, but it was setting fast. He had just been lucky that May deemed it a long day and decided to turn in early, because Peter wasn't sure how he would be able to successfully lie to her face and sneak out again. Not right after everything he had just been through. But he had some place he needed to be.

It was almost dusk, and he needed to get back to the beach. 

There was no doubt that Peter's new powers were connected to the water. That's where he had gotten them, whether he liked them or not. He knew the water seemed to heal him faster than the spider bite ever had, and he had a few theories as to how the empathy tied in as well. 

But there was something else. Something he tried not to think about since he had woken up that morning. That bright light. The pain he had felt. The glimpse of red. 

Peter didn't want it to be true in equal parts as he wanted it to be, but either way he needed to know. He needed to know what he was now capable of. He needed to figure it all out so he could control it. So he could face off that woman again. He already had the disadvantage and his web shooters would be useless under the water. Spider-Man wasn't going to be able to help him this time. 

Reaching over to turn off the water, Peter made sure that he had a towel and that the door was locked before he took off his clothes and lowered himself into the bathtub. He almost laughed at the insanity of it all. He couldn't even remember the last time he took a bath, and here he was getting into one in secret to see what else a crazy mermaid had done to him. If nothing happened to him, maybe he really did belong in a nuthouse. At least some heavy therapy.

The apartment was small, and that also extended to the room inside the tub, but there was just enough for Peter to stretch out his legs. The balls of his feet were pressed up against the other side of the porcelain, but his entire lower half was completely submerged, the water level resting right at the start of his hips. The water was a little too hot, biting at his skin and turning it a light pink, but Peter stayed put. He was watching. Waiting. He crossed his fingers and hoped that this would be enough. 

He wasn't sure whether to be happy he was, or to regret it completely. 

There was no bright light. There was no warning this time. Just the pain. 

The heat swelled, and it began to feel like Peter sat himself down into a pot of scalding water instead of the manageable tub he was sitting in. His spider sense was shouting at him to jump out, but he clenched his jaw and willed himself to stay in. To keep his eyes open. He wasn't missing it this time. 

It was one of the worst contrasts he had experienced in his life. His arms and chest felt like they were submerged in ice compared to his legs burning like they were laying in fire. His hand gripped the side of the tub tightly, being afraid of leaving indentations of his fingers far from his priority. He half expected the water to tinge crimson with blood as he fought back the urge to throw up the contents of his stomach as he witnessed the skin of his legs begin to melt together, forming a singular limb. 

The back of Peter's head hit the wall behind him as he gave in and shut his eyes. But his mouth stayed shut, holding back the screams he wanted to let out. He thrashed, water sloshing over the side of the tub, when he felt his bones begin to snap, starting from his toes and travelling up his legs like a domino effect. 

Then the pain began to subside, becoming a throbbing numbness instead, and Peter forced his eyes open again, blinking away the tears he wanted to shed so he could see clearly. Just as he felt something slice through his skin. 

He remembered it starting at his feet last time, but this time seemed to be the opposite. Color blossomed just below his navel, creeping up his hips just as it travelled down, changing his skin until it was no longer skin. Peter hissed through his teeth, watching as small and thin but tough scales began to protrude from his skin like it was almost choreographed. They pushed through, falling in place one on top of the other, slotting together perfectly to create a dense layer of bone. Glass turned into paper as the scales tapered down his legs, Peter watching as his knees disappeared, his shins, his feet, until he had to push himself up with his arms to be able to have enough room. 

Peter knew he must have made a big splash as he let himself drop back down into the water, the pain subsiding and his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, but he didn't care. 

He gulped heavily as his shaking hand reached to touch the area of skin on his stomach that merged with his new lower body. A seamless transition from human to scales - to fish. The water was a deep red, but not for the reason Peter would have thought. 

Reflecting the light from his phone, primarily red colored scales, nearly identical to the color of his suit, shimmered from under the water, casting the bathroom in a soft cherry colored glow. But as Peter shifted, he saw other colors change the air around him. Dotted in the lower parts of where his legs used to be were varying shades of darker scales, creating a gradient until it grew dark enough to fade into a deep blue. Then he saw just why he had to give himself more room. Peter had always wanted to be taller, he just never thought it would happen like this. 

Added onto where the tips of his toes used to be, was a large flowing fin, flaring out and easily tacking on another foot and a half to his body. It almost looked soft and delicate as it hung over the side of the tub, if Peter hadn't known better. He knew it was flesh. The blue continued on the fin, still darkening until the last few inches were a deep black. He could see the veins of bone, the lines of nerves, all in his tail fin and he knew that it had to be the same under the rest of his scales. That his body had reconfigured itself against all known laws of biology to give him this tail. This tail that Peter knew, past the remaining tingling and pinpricks the transformation had left him with, he would be able to move. 

Peter used to think stuff like this only happened in books and in movies. He never thought that this might have ever been his reality. Because even his knowledge of popular fiction couldn't have ever prepared him for this. The situation seemed surreal and ethereal, and if it wasn't for the fear that was crawling inside of him, Peter would have loved every single detail his results gave him, it having satisfied a lot of his childhood wonder. 

Instead, Peter clamored to get out of the tub, the water sloshing as he didn't know how to work his new tail and he threw himself to the bathroom floor. 

He slipped and almost hit his head in his panic but he caught himself on the sink, adhering his hand to the surface for extra grip. He wanted his legs back, no matter how mythical his new body was. Reds and blues and blacks swirled around the room as the scales continued to reflect the light of his phone, twisting as Peter did, using his spider powers to climb to the towel cabinet and pull down three more, throwing them onto the floor where he made a mess.

Frantic as he attempted to dry himself up, Peter could feel the time passing faster than it should. He was still damp as he felt his legs begin to split again, and he filed it in the back of his mind that he changed back after being out of the water for a time and that being dry had less to do with it than he thought it did. He really wasn't looking forward to doing this again and again, even if the second time seemed to go by faster - it couldn't have been more that three minutes - and less painful than the first. He pulled at his hair as the fins and scales disappeared, as his bones grew back into place, as he could feel his two separate legs again rather than just one big intricate mass. 

It felt like walking on knives as Peter tried to stand, so he waited until he felt like normal, utilizing both his healing factors, old and new, splashing his face with the water from the bath as it drained. He got dressed, and after searching his bedroom for another backpack, checked one last time that May was asleep, before he opened the front door, slipping out of the apartment quietly. 

Peter couldn't predict the future. He had no idea what was going to happen. He could be walking into another trap for all he knew. But what he did know was that he wasn't going to come back without answers. 

And there was only one way to get them. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
